


His Worst Nightmare

by Annehiggins



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-15
Updated: 2010-02-15
Packaged: 2017-10-07 07:05:33
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/62650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Annehiggins/pseuds/Annehiggins
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim is captured, but rescued without obvious signs of injury. So why is he being 'haunted?' Written for <strong>vicki_rae</strong> for the <strong>Help_Haiti</strong> auction on Live Journal. She told me to just follow my muse.</p><p>My thanks to <strong>GraceandFire</strong> and <strong>Hitlikehammers</strong> for the fast and brilliant beta reads!</p>
            </blockquote>





	His Worst Nightmare

**Author's Note:**

> This is my version of what could happen when the hostile-aliens-of-the-week muck around in a brain already dealt a blow by the infamous mild meld with an "emotionally compromised" Vulcan. Kirk Prime is a reflection of Jim's thoughts, and is in no way meant to accurately convey the Shat's Kirk.

James T. Kirk learned early in life to roll with the punches – both metaphoric and literal – that life seemed to delight in sending his way. But some hit harder than others. Two of them had defined the whole uphill battle that made up his life. The death of his father on the day of his birth had held the number one slot for 'mother of all body blows' for his first twenty-five years. People used that lens to judge everything he did, everything he was. And so did he.

That all changed when a Romulan's grief-inspired madness had sent the second of two ships tumbling through time and into Jim's reality. One well-meaning touch had given Jim a whole new lens to turn on his life and find it wanting. No longer did he merely have to live up to the heroic image of a long-dead father – while others not at all in tune with the significance of the new reality still tended to hold him up to the George Kirk Scale of Perfection. Instead he found himself struggling desperately to live up to another reality, to a future Nero had taunted him with and an older version of a familiar face had promised him he would one day achieve. Yes, he had fucking _promised_ Jim. Done deal. Guaranteed with the 'destiny' seal of approval. Except reality seemed determined to prove, at least in Jim's case, that history did not … would not? … repeat itself.

First case in point, that epic friendship he was supposed to share with his first officer. Not happening. Sure, he and Spock got along okay, even worked well together, but beyond a game of chess here or there, neither of them actively sought out each other's company in their off-duty hours. That they didn't avoid each other either didn't prove very comforting to a young man desperate for some sign he wasn't screwing up his 'legendary' destiny.

Thing was, Ambassador Spock had never fallen in love with Nyota Uhura, and c'mon, seriously, who would want to spend time with Jim when they could get horizontal with her? And damn if that shallow statement probably wasn't one of the reasons Spock wasn't exactly buying into the whole best friend thing. Jim knew stunning looks and legs that went on forever had only a small claim to the reasons Uhura drew Spock to her, but a small petty and jealous part of himself insisted on trying to marginalize the formidable woman to pure sex partner status

Shallow. When alcohol or one too many literal blows to the head loosened his tongue, even Jim would put that word first on a list of his personality traits. Not something he could really see someone ever applying to the great Kirk Prime. So, yeah, there was another strike against destiny. God, that was so rapidly becoming his least favorite word. But, hey, he'd made captain almost a full decade before Captain Destiny.

Good news and bad news there. He'd led a life that almost guaranteed he'd have spent the majority of his inevitably short career in the brig on mutiny charges if he'd tried to serve as a junior officer intent on the usual climb through the ranks. But the universe seemed to have agreed with Spock Prime on the Jim-must-be-captain-of-the-_Enterprise_ thing, because things went down in a way that left Starfleet with no other choice than to make him captain. So good news there. Except … he didn't know how to do the fucking job.

Sure, the rest of his genius-level, but too-damned-young-for-their-posts crew should have been in the same boat – so to speak – with him, but they weren't the freaking captain! With a seasoned captain, they could be brilliant and learn on the job without any hitch in their glorious destinies. Hell, they might still do it despite serving with Captain What-Choice-Did-Starfleet-Have, but all Jim had was the same command training they'd all gotten at the Academy and the insane level of luck that had let him survive the encounter with Nero. Not really good enough to accomplish destiny stuff. Sure luck helped a lot, but it could only get a guy so far.

So yeah, his inability to get a simple fucking friendship right seriously fed into the quiet fear he should have told both Spock Prime and Starfleet they were out of their fucking minds and gone off to grow fucking corn in fucking Iowa versus taking command of the Federation flagship. Which was why he kept coming back to that lack of epic friendship even though he found it sort of bitchy to resent Spock for not declaring them BFFs for life when Jim already really _had_ one of those.

Bones. Who put up with Jim. Who'd let Jim _rename_ him when he'd decided 'Leonard' just didn't suit Doctor Leonard H. McCoy. They'd been best friends from about that same moment. Even had branched out into the friends with benefits category when they'd settled on _Enterprise_ since neither of them could date more junior crewmembers. Perfect arrangement, so who needed another best friend demanding attention? Certainly not him! And an epic friendship with one person or another really didn't prove anything destiny-wise, did it? No, not at all. And of course there was no other reason for him to be jealous of what Spock had with Nyota. No, none at all.

And, seriously, why was he thinking about all this shit now? It didn't…he usually didn't…Oh. Hey, not to sound ungrateful for the 'hospitality' or any thing, but he really didn't want any more drugs. "I may throw up on you," he muttered to the blurry being clutching his jaw so tightly. And for some reason he couldn't quite remember, the words made Jim smile.

 

*

Phaser set for stun in one hand, a tricorder in the other, Leonard moved through stone hallways. Spock kept a few paces ahead of him, but not so far that it took more than a hiss to warn that the device had detected yet another life form up ahead. Three of them this time. Spock took down one, while Leonard and Sulu got the other two.

Sometimes Leonard wondered if the Prime version of himself had to put up with shit like this. The few times he'd spoken to Ambassador Spock, he'd gotten the impression of 'no, not so much' even if the old Hobgoblin hadn't put it quite that way. There had apparently been a lot of fire fights when running for their lives, but grabbing his phaser and storming to the rescue hadn't been McCoy Prime's strong suit. Which Leonard found fucking weird since he'd always had the athlete's build and excellent hand-to-eye coordination that made him the best choice to serve as the medic during this sort of shiftfest. And with rescuing Jim's sorry ass as the mission objective no way in hell was Leonard sitting on his hands in sickbay while the big, brave Vulcan saved the day.

Almost to prove the point, he took down the next Imbician to get between him and Jim. Spock gave him a glance that might have been approval or might have been an order to let him always shoot first. Leonard didn't know as he couldn't speak Vulcan – unless it suited him otherwise – and he sure as hell couldn't speak Vulcan body language – same qualifier. In other words, he didn't give a fucking damn, and he wanted to find Jim _now._

He checked the readout on his tricorder again then pointed to a door to the left. Human reading that way. Indicated a lower level, so finding a staircase on the other side of the door didn't surprise him. The scream piercing the air did.

_Jim._ He bit his lip to not call out, focusing his fury into a run. Fortunately, Spock chose the same response so it all looked like following the leader, but he'd have gone charging in with or without the others. Another scream and now they could hear sobbing as well. Somehow between that moment and the one when he fired his phaser at the Imbician standing over Jim, the weapon 'accidentally' reset to kill. And Hippocrates could kiss his Georgian ass if he wanted to haunt Leonard because of it.

He landed on his knees next to Jim before the body even finished falling. His beautiful captain had curled into a tight fetal position, tears streaming down his face, sobs shuddering through him. "It's all right, Jim," he soothed, running his hands gently over the bare, battered torso. "I'm here. It's all right."

The transporter effect swirled around him, but he had no time to worry whether or not Scotty's booster would get them through the fortress shield or scatter their atoms all over space. But later, as he sat holding Jim's hand and watching the bed's biosensors, he assumed it had worked. Score one for the genius of Montgomery Scott yet again. He just wished the man could figure out some sort of gadget that would keep their aggravating captain from getting hurt time and time again.

He gave Jim's hand a squeeze. "You don't have to do it all, darlin'," he whispered, Jim's unconscious state giving him the bravery to risk the endearment. "None of this was a mistake. You're where you belong." He shifted the limp, but reassuringly warm hand to his lips, then brushed a kiss across the knuckles. "You don't have to do it all."

An old argument. One that had started about ten minutes after the destruction of Nero's ship, and one they'd had at least twice a week in the eighteen months since. The fact Jim had currently fallen into something uncomfortably close to a coma didn't change the kid's 'no comment' response.

Leonard sighed, hating everything with pointed ears that had ever lived. As if Jim hadn't had enough to deal with before he'd stumbled into Spock Prime's mind-melding grasp, now he felt like he had to compete with the … fucking Ghost of Christmas Future as well as the Past. Who needed that kind of shit?

Furious at the universe, he must have squeezed too hard, because Jim made a soft sound, like the broken warble of a wounded bird, and his eyes fluttered open. Leave it to Jim Kirk for pain to be the cure for near-coma. "Jesus, Jim, I'm sorry," he apologized, easing his grip and getting to his feet.

"Bones?" Beautiful blue eyes that normally flashed with a brilliant fire looked at him, but at the moment they looked so subdued it nearly broke his heart.

"Yeah, you're safe now," Leonard assured him past the lump in his throat. Took a lot out of him to not use an endearment, but Jim didn't need to deal with Leonard's need for something more on top of everything else.

"Hurts," Jim whispered in something frighteningly close to a whimper.

A cold chill swept through Leonard. He'd seen Jim endure a compound fracture with little more than a grunt. What had those bastards done to him? He checked the sensors again and frowned. Nothing indicated a patient in physical pain, and he'd healed every bruise and bump he'd found while Jim had slept. "Where? Where does it hurt?"

For one brief moment it looked like Jim would answer him, then his gaze focused more on his surroundings and, fucking hell, Jim vanished into the Captain. "I'm fine," he said. "When can I get out of here?"

The words were right – same ones spoken every single 'all too often' time Jim landed in sickbay – but they lacked the 'let me the hell out of here' conviction that usually underscored them. _God, darlin', what did they do to you?_ He wanted to ask, wanted to scream, but something told him to hold his tongue. "After you get a bit more sleep," he said, again biting back the need for some soft word of affection.

"You'll stay?"

That was new. Not the desire for Leonard's company, but the request for it. "I always do," he answered, settling back into his chair. He gave Jim a reassuring smile and gently squeezed his hand, all while doing a masterful job of hiding his alarm.

Jim looked at him, his eyes full of … sorrow? Loss? Leonard swallowed hard. He looked … like Joanna had when the divorce had driven her father out of their home and into Starfleet.

His heart cracked and he gave Jim's hand another gentle squeeze. "C'mon, kid, tell me what's wrong. Let me help."

Tears shimmered, but eyelids closed before they could fall. "Just tired," he whispered.

He forced himself not to shudder, to stay outwardly calm. "Sleep, then," he said, then sat there holding Jim's hand, while they both pretended it took only seconds, instead of ten long minutes, for him to obey.

*

Shallow, whore, brilliant and one needy bitch. Sometimes when Jim needed a little mental boost he let himself add in a couple more positives – handsome and lucky – to the list, although he didn't consider either a character trait, so he generally left them off. He supposed he shared the brilliant and handsome with Captain Prime, but, apparently, his other self had honed that brilliance into an art form that made its own luck.

Oh, one other thing. Prime had died alone. Just like Jim would some day. Only Prime had done so to save others who would have willingly stood by him to the bitter end. While Jim would meet such a fate because his damned god-awful neediness would drive everyone away.

He'd almost always known this. The need to fucking get it over with had been behind the near fatal joyride in his dad's old car. He'd never figured out why he'd jumped clear before he could ride it over the cliff edge, never quite understood why he couldn't find the courage to try to end things again. Maybe fate hadn't let him because it had needed him to save Earth. It made as much sense as anything, but the answer left him unsatisfied. If he was destiny's little bitch, why not let him claim it all? Why make him blunder through a job he'd never truly master?

Jim sat on his bed staring out his porthole at the stars, his PADD sitting in his lap. His mind wouldn't settle down. Wouldn't stop going over and over every failure, every stupid decision, every whiney-needy moment. Left him unable to concentrate, to memorize the new command codes he'd insisted on.

That's what the Imbicians had wanted. They'd had some bizarre idea they could use them to take over the _Enterprise._ Which might have worked if they could have gotten aboard and if it weren't standard procedure to lock out the codes of any captured officer. And one thing he'd known beyond anything else – Spock would never fail to follow procedure. He'd told them this when they'd beaten him. Told them again, plus a lot more shit, when they'd used drugs. They were so convinced he was lying, they didn't even believe him when he'd given them the fucking useless codes long after they would have been locked out.

He wished with every ounce of his being that they'd killed him then. Had cut his throat and thrown his body in a bin with the rest of the rubbish. But they hadn't. Instead …

_Well, your quarters are bigger, I'll grant you that._

He did not look up, unwilling to give his mind a chance to conjure a face to go with the phantom voice, but he couldn't help sighing, "So you've said." Stupid -- giving voice to a conversation with a hallucination -- but the strain to snap back wore on him whenever he left his rooms, so here he gave in. Inevitably it would lead to a lapse in front of one of the crew, but Jim knew there was virtually no chance he could keep the fact he was losing his mind a secret for much longer. "Repeatedly."

_Just like the ship – bigger, shinier, but it lacks the same style._

He could have defended his ship, argued about faster warp engines; more reliable transporters; more powerful weapons; hell, food replicators instead of food slots, for fuck's sake, but he didn't. Except he did since the whole conversation was going on inside his head and a thought was a thought. So what the hell, "At least _I_ have a ready room," he snapped, looking up to see an older version of himself standing in the center of his bedroom – which came with a king-sized bed instead of some stupid cot-like twin.

Prime – because he absolutely, positively was not thinking of him as Jim or Kirk -- gave him an unimpressed look. _I never felt the need to hide from my bridge crew._

God, Jim hated him. More and more with every passing second, because yeah, Jim got that Prime's senior staff had considered him some sort of god among men, while Jim's viewed him with wry tolerance, but … but … well, it was fucking rude to keep pointing it out. "Right, great comfort and joy from your presence," he muttered, slowly standing up, because it was time to try and stay sane through another duty shift.

He wanted to go straight to the bridge – a sooner started, sooner finished survival plan – but he couldn't. Since the day he'd taken command … oh, hell, pretty much since the day they'd met, Jim had made it a point to eat breakfast with Bones. Sure, they ate most meals together whenever their schedules allowed, but with heavy class loads giving way to even weightier ship's duties, breakfast often ended up as the only time they could get together. Over the years Jim had made such a big deal of it that when he missed it without good reason, Bones always got worried and came looking for him.

So item number one on the Jim-Kirk-Needs-to-Hide-Something-from-Bones list was to never, ever miss breakfast. He entered the mess, wishing the door could somehow stop the 'ghost' on his heels from following him inside. He even tried to tell his mind it could, but no, he wasn't buying it. The bastard had taken residence up inside Jim's head, and where Jim went, he went.

"Kirk Breakfast Smoothie," he muttered to the replicator. A second later the protein-infused, peanut butter, fruit and almond milk concoction that had served as breakfast for generations of Kirks appeared. Jim tended to alternate it with some sort of cereal, but he'd stuck with the drink since his rescue.

Glass in hand, he walked over to his usual table and sat down across from Bones. "Morning," he said with all the fake cheer he could manage.

Bones scowled, and Jim couldn't quite keep himself from a 'caught' flinch.

_I never worried him like that. No wonder he looks tired. It must be exhausting dealing with you all the time._

"Is that all you're having, Jim?"

Pretty much all he could keep down these days, so yeah, but Bones didn't need to know that. "It's what I usually have," he answered, because he did.

Bones got that 'don't fuck with me, I'm a doctor' look. "According to the replicator logs, it's _all_ you've had for six days."

"You checked up on me?" he tried to sound outraged. He managed resigned.

"You've lost weight," Bones countered. Weight Jim didn't have to lose. So naturally, Bones checked up on him.

_The crew should have the CMO's focus, not some needy child masquerading as captain._ Yeah, he knew. Prime always put his crew first, but not Jim. At least not when it came to Bones. He needed the man's attention, craved it, and hated himself for it. Selfish infant. And one with no business sitting in the captain's chair. The thought gave his stomach a vicious twist, and he darted for the nearest fresher.

He hit his knees with a split-second to spare, then lost the few sips he'd taken of his breakfast. A mouthful of bile followed, then another. A tricorder whirled, and a large hand rubbed his back calming him. Jim didn't even protest when the hypo hissed against his neck. He'd have welcomed darkness, but the sudden lack of nausea was a close second on the relief stakes.

All he wanted to do was curl up against Bones, to ask him to come back to his quarters and take a nap or something, because maybe, just maybe, the voice in his head would shut up and let him sleep if Bones held him. But he couldn't.

_He doesn't want you. You took advantage of a friend, and you'll lose him because of it._ He'd resisted Prime's accusation, had sworn to the … specter that the desire went two-ways, but he'd doubted enough not to invite Bones back to his quarters since the rescue, and, to his dismay, his 'never meant to be more than that' friend hadn't done his own inviting.

Reminded of his own folly, he got to his feet without relying on the firm grip on his elbow. "I need to get to the bridge."

Bones tightened his grasp. "The only place you're going is sickbay."

Jim opened his mouth to argue, but sensed Prime doing some sort of mental clearing of his throat prior to another blistering criticism. So he gave in without a fight. "Whatever you say, Bones."

For some reason that made Bones look even more worried.

*

Leonard scowled at the readout panel above Jim's biobed. Nothing. The man was pale, nauseous and losing weight and the goddamned readout couldn't give him a clue. Hell of a lot in common with the man in question.

Right this minute his grandma's remedy of a kiss to make it better had as much likelihood of success as anything he could try. If they'd been alone, he'd have done so, but they weren't, leaving him to make do with giving Jim's shoulder a squeeze.

A faint copy of one of Jim's glorious smiles answered him. Damn, the kid looked … broken. "Okay, let's try this again. The bastards did something to you. I want to know what it was."

"Noth-"

"Damnit, Jim!" he snapped and only regretted it a little when the kid flinched. "You screamed at least twice when I could hear it." And was he really going to make him mention the sobbing?

Jim got a look on his face, almost like he was listening to something, then he flushed. "They made me … realize some stuff. That's all."

'That's all?' God damnit! If he didn't love the brat so much, he'd kill him and save himself the aggravation. "What. Stuff."

"Personal stuff." His jaw clenched. Kirk body language for 'and that's all I'm saying.'

Fuck. "Jim-"

"Can I go now?"

It was the most spirit the kid had shown for two weeks. Leonard couldn't quite bring himself to say no. Especially since he blamed himself for some of this. He had wanted Jim to come to him, to talk to him. So he'd kept his distance as if he were trying to coax a frightened animal closer. But Jim had never thrived on distance – at least not when it came to the two of them. Stupid. Should have moved in with the kid for the duration no matter what the personal consequences. He sighed. "I'll have Chapel give you some intravenous fluids, then you can go. For half a shift. Then I want your ass back on this bed. You read me?"

Jim nodded. Because of course he'd agree to anything to get back to his precious bridge. As opposed to doing something like giving Leonard some _useful information_. He sighed, then turned to give Christine his orders, but Jim caught hold of his hand.

"'m sorry I'm making you worry."

God, first agreeable, now contrite? "It's okay," he muttered, snapped out his orders, then locked himself in his office to go over what little they knew about the Imbicians for the 300th time.

*

Jim walked onto the bridge 98 minutes after his shift had begun and felt the weight of every gaze fixed upon him as he walked toward his chair. "Thanks for covering for me," he muttered to Spock as the Vulcan rose.

It earned Jim a 'that is part of my duties' eyebrow lift, before Spock moved to his own station.

Jim sat down and tried to focus on ship's business, but Prime had other ideas.

_Bridge is all bright lights and too many people, but then I didn't need as much backup as you must._ When that failed to make Jim's temper flare, Prime moved on to, _Spock. My blood brother. How it pains me to see your fate in the hands of a child._

It went on and on like that. Uhura had once told Prime she drew courage from seeing him in the Captain's chair. Pure devotion to Prime had kept Sulu aboard the ship long after he had warranted a command of his own – and just how that was a good thing, Jim wasn't certain, but Prime seemed to think it was proof of godhood or something. And Chekov? Apparently, in that golden reality, another had born the name, still brave and reliable, but a few years younger than the child prodigy manning Jim's bridge.

The puzzle gave Jim a few moments' clarity, but the answer seemed obvious. Same parents, so in Prime's reality, a miscarriage of an earlier pregnancy must have resulted in Pavel's little brother, Piotr, receiving the name. So score one for Jim's reality, because this version of Pavel Andreievich Chekov was not to be missed.

Prime seemed irritated by this and launched into yet another analysis of how his bridge had more style and this many people cluttering up the place. Given Jim had a fondness for each and every member of his crew, he remained unimpressed and finally managed to focus on his PADD long enough to sign off on a dozen or so reports while Prime droned on.

*

Leonard opened the next file and started reading. He'd run out of official sources of information twenty minutes ago and had started in on any anecdotal mention of Imbicians in the Starfleet personal log database. Not many had access to that sort of information, but a ship's CMO did. He tried not to abuse the privilege, but considered this the sort of emergency that warranted the breach of privacy. A quick conversation with Admiral Pike a few days ago had even gained him limited viewing of the admiralty's historical logs.

For a species no one knew much about, the fuckers had certainly warranted a lot of passing references. Mostly from upper brass all hot and bothered by the planet's strategic position near the Neutral Zone. Which led to hair-brained missions to open negotiations with a species that had made it clear more than once that they wanted nothing to do with either side of any potential, maybe someday conflict – in other words, the refusal to take 'no' for an answer had gotten Jim captured and damaged somehow.

It took another hour of reading before he stumbled on a log recorded forty years ago by a Vulcan member of a negotiating team. After brief observation, she had come to believe some Imbicians, especially those among the king's security forces, displayed a degree of touch telepathy. She suggested this might warrant further investigation.

"You think?" How could anyone have decided this sort of thing didn't belong in the official briefings? "Fucking unbelievable," he raged, leaping to his feet and snatching up his medical kit.

*

"Spock –"

_Bone will figure it out one day._ The prediction made Jim falter mid-order. Prime had chattered away in his head non-stop for the better part of an hour. Overkill somehow easier to ignore than the past pattern of occasional, but well chosen barbs, he'd almost stopped hearing him.

_He never did suffer fools gladly. Especially not fools trying to hide behind titles._

"Captain? Are you well?" Spock tried to reclaim his focus, but Jim couldn't do more than shake his head.

_Bones will declare you unfit for command, give the ship back to Spock._

"Dr. McCoy to the bridge."

"No!" Jim shouted, fear breaking his near-paralysis. "Don't bother Bones!"

The turbolift doors hissed open, and a furious muttering drew closer, "Damn fucking telepaths can't keep their blasted minds out of other people's business."

_He'll see you're far more trouble than you're worth._

"Bones," he moaned, reaching out blindly.

"Jim!" A strong hand closed around his, then pulled him into a warm embrace.

_Needy infant._

Panic began to well up within him and his free hand fisted blue cloth. With what might be his last remotely sane breath, he whispered, "Sedative."

The arm around him shifted, a hypo hissed, and blackness closed in.

*

"So you believe the Captain is suffering from some sort of mental attack."

Much as he might hate to admit it, there were days Leonard almost liked Spock. This wasn't one of them. Right now he wanted every fucking telepath in the damned universe _gone._ Which made Spock a far too convenient target.

Gently he laid Jim down on a biobed – because heavy or not, no way anyone else was laying a hand on him -- and watched the same useless 'he's fine' readings light up. "It's the only thing that makes sense," he said, gesturing at the panel. "Something is going on inside his head that the scanners only see as normal brain activity."

"In that case, the next logical step would be for me to attempt a mind meld to assess any damage."

Fists clenched at Leonard's sides. He wanted to scream. Wanted to keep Spock and any other mind-invading bastard a hundred miles from his Jim, but the fucking Hobgoblin was right. "Do it," he snarled.

Spock nodded, then reached toward Jim with his right hand.

Leonard trembled with the need to slap it away, but stayed still as the fingertips settled on Jim's forehead and cheek.

"My mind to yours," Spock murmured, sinking into the meld. One second. Two, then suddenly Spock recoiled, breaking the touch, his eyes wider than Leonard had ever seen them.

"Spock, what the hell?" Leonard demanded, snatching up his tricorder.

The Vulcan held up a hand in what seemed a silent plea for distance. Damnit! Deciding Spock need an emotional anchor – and if that wasn't ironic, Leonard didn't know the meaning of the word – he activated his comm. "Lt. Uhura to sickbay," he ordered, then keeping a wary eye on Spock, Leonard reached for his own anchor and latched on to Jim's hand.

It took 12 seconds to go from the bridge to sickbay – he'd timed it more than once – assuming a flat out run from his office to the turbolift. Uhura made it in 16. She entered, paused a moment as if assessing things, then went to Spock.

Leonard didn't listen to the soft murmur of her voice or see more than her reaching for her lover, but the tension in the room seemed to ease. Spock gave a soft sigh, then looked to Leonard. "I fear, Doctor, that the situation is far more complex than we had imagined."

Of fucking course.

*

Trapped inside his own head, Jim suffered the onslaught of Prime's disgust without the slightest buffer to mute his outrage. No more ranting about the ship or unknown crewmembers, instead his alter ego focused on those who mattered most – Spock, Sulu, Chekov, Uhura, Scotty … and Bones. Please. …

Briefly another presence stirred and for one brief moment he enjoyed the revenge of lashing out at the one who had done this to him, but then it vanished. Leaving him alone. With Prime. Oh, God. Bones. …

*

A headache that screamed for bourbon stabbed through Leonard's brain. "Jim's being haunted by his future self." No, it didn't sound any better when he said it instead of Spock. And why was he surprised? Leonard had known the 'should have been' aspect of this fucked up universe had been wearing on Jim. But he'd never thought the kid would end up having conversations with alternate versions of himself!

"Yes, and I fear I am to blame. Or rather my alternate self. He-"

Yeah, Leonard knew what he'd done. "Performed a mind meld while grief-stricken over the loss of Vulcan." He could guess the rest. Desperate to save the new universe from his mistakes, he'd had his version of Kirk front and center in his thoughts as the only hope. And it had gone spilling into Jim's mind. "And somehow the Imbicians' mucking around stirred up this bastion of perfection and gave it a life of its own."

"Indeed."

Great. Just fucking great. So the only hope Jim had of fixing this mess was yet another mind meld with the alternate version of the Hobgoblin who started it all. "What will keep him from giving you the heave-ho again?"

Spock looked uncomfortable. An unsettling sight on a Vulcan. "I will be prepared this time," he answered with a somewhat false quality to his confidence.

Uhura seemed to have the same impression because she rested her hand across Spock's forearm. "I don't think you can do this, Spock," she said, her voice gentle, but firm. "You can't save him if all he wants to do is fight you."

The Vulcan inclined his head slightly. A sign of agreement, but, "We have little choice, Nyota. It will take us a week to reach New Vulcan and a more experienced, less familiar mental touch."

A neutral touch. Leonard looked at Jim's face and the faint lines of tension around his eyes. Only heavy sedation kept him from thrashing around in a physical reaction to the battle waging inside his mind. Leonard absolutely knew two things. First, Jim couldn't survive another week. And second, "The last thing he needs is a neutral party tromping around inside his mind." He nodded toward the reassuring hand resting on Spock's arm. "He needs … me."

*

Jim fell deeper into his mind. Above him the storm of Prime's ranting still raged, but it had pushed him down into a darkness far more terrifying. Here the words remained the same, but different voices spoke them. The voices of all who had abandoned him – the father whose voice he'd never heard outside of a recording; the mother who had left over and over again until she found a way to never return; the aunt who had given her life to protect him; the uncle who drank himself to death over her loss and Jim's survival; the older brother who walked out of his life years ago; the beautiful Orion who had lived and loved in the moment; dead classmates; lost crew; and the very worst of all, Bones.

He screamed that Bones hadn't left him, but the voices shouted him down with the certainty that one day he would join their exodus from the cosmic mistake of his existence. Bones.

*

They moved from sickbay to the more comforting surroundings of Jim's quarters, then Leonard lay down on the bed next to him. He held Jim close and began a self-hypnosis technique keyed off Jim's heartbeat. A hypo hissed. Fingertips pressed against his forehead and cheek, then. …

He found himself standing in the middle of a barren landscape. Damn, it had worked. Despite the odds Spock had quoted against conveying a third consciousness into a subject's mind, it had worked. And if Leonard got out of here remotely sane, he'd never let the Hobgoblin live it down. His grim satisfaction giving him a moment to center himself, he shook it off and took a good look around. "Jim," he sighed. As far as the eye could see, nothing but cracked, dry ground beneath a stormy sky buffeted by winds that failed to coax a single drop of water from clouds that looked heavy with rain. Never seen anything so bleak in his life.

Needed to find Jim. No, that wasn't right. Jim was all around him. But Leonard needed a focal point. "Jim!" he shouted, then shook his head. He could never hope to overpower the roar of the storm with a mental reflection of his voice. So he tried radiating calm, and spoke quietly, "I'm here, Jim. You're safe. I'm here."

With no way to track time, it seemed like both an instant and days later when the wind died down and he heard … weeping. He looked toward the sound and saw a figure lying on the hard-baked ground. He imagined himself walking over to it and was there. Imagined knees hit imagined ground, and he drew a small boy into his arms. Six. The same age as the daughter who'd waved goodbye until he could no longer see her, and he remembered his thoughts in sickbay of the look she'd had in common with Jim.

The boy whimpered and clutched at his teddy bear. A battered looking thing with an old-fashioned version of a stethoscope around its neck, it had fur the same color as Leonard's hair. He managed a slight smile. Even in the midst of all of this, Jim had found a way to drag 'Bones' along.

He opened his imaginary mouth to launch into the 3 millionth version of their argument about destiny being a bitch Jim didn't have to ride, but thought better of it. Instead he started telling … Jimmy one of Joanna's favorite old stories -- _The Little Engine That Could._ Trite as hell, but Leonard had always had a weakness for the classics. He gave it the same focus he had with his daughter, complete with voices and dramatic pauses. Then, because she'd always responded with a demand for 'again!' he started all over once he reached the end.

Halfway through the fifth round, Jimmy shifted and looked up at him with eyes far too old to fit in a child's face. Leonard finished the story, then pressed a kiss to the center of the boy's forehead. "I know I call you an infant at least twice a day, but you are, and always have been, one of the finest men I've ever known."

A resigned look that should never grace a child accompanied the small hand that reached up and touched his face much as Spock had done on the physical plane. Leonard gasped as the mental storm tormenting Jim flashed through his mind. He felt like a punch had knocked the wind from lungs he currently did not really have. "Oh, Jim," he shuddered, holding the boy even closer.

Failure. Hopeless. The thoughts flayed him along with one greater than all the rest – Bones would leave him one day. "No," he hissed back. "Never!"

No, he would. He really would. Because Jim wasn't worthy enough to keep someone as wonderful as his Bones.

Wonderful? He closed his eyes and something else touched his soul. Love. Jim loved him. He almost laughed. All this time he'd worried Jim would bolt if he got the slightest inkling Leonard wanted more than a sexual friendship, Jim had held similar fears. Fears magnified beyond endurance by mental tinkering. The screams from the cell. "They made you live through me leaving you."

_Yes. Over and over again. Everyone leaves. No one loves._

"I do. I love you." Taking his lead from Jim, he pressed his fingertips to Jim's forehead and cheek. "See how much I love you."

He let Jim see it all. His amazement that someone like Jim, someone who could have anyone he wanted had chosen friendship with a grouchy, damaged fool with an uncomfortable fondness for bourbon. The joy and laughter Jim brought into his life. The almost spiritual heights he discovered within himself every time he made love with Jim. His hope, his dream of growing old with Jim, of watching Joanna's kids' kids playing around two still besotted old men. His contentment with the rightness of staying at Jim's side the rest of his life even if that meant a lifetime spent in the black of space. And, finally, because dishonesty was neither possible nor helpful, he let him see the terror that one day he would be too slow or not good enough to save Jim and would lose him. He knew he would not survive the loss, but each day spent with Jim was such a gift he saw it as well worth the cost.

He blinked and found his Jim, not a child, resting in his arms and looking up at him with utter amazement.

_You love me._

"I always have." But there was more. He let Jim see what he saw. A sometimes bemused, but always devoted crew. Pike's trust in him. Genuine friendship felt for him by his senior staff. And always the unwavering faith felt by all that Jim would find a way to get them through any crisis or die in the attempt.

"The other version of you was … will be a great man, Jim, but the love of his life was a hunk of metal floating in space. Tell him to fuck off. Come back with me and let me be the love of your life."

Jim looked at him for a long moment, then he leaned up and kissed him. An imagined physical touch. Two stars colliding, merging. Water falling into parched ground that bloomed with life.

_Yes. Let's go home._

*

Jim opened his eyes and found himself in his quarters, his bed and Bones' arms. Quiet. No voice too big to stay confined to his mind pacing around the room. Nothing. Just the soft sound of Bones' breathing.

Despite the solid presence next to him, he reached up with a tentative touch, terrified Bones would vanish. But his fingertips brushed warm skin damp with tears. His own face felt equally wet.

"Jim?"

"Yeah?"

"We alone?"

"Uh huh. No more voices."

Bones gave him a hug. "What about Hobgoblins and their consorts?"

Jim had to laugh. "Not a pointed ear or pony tail in sight."

"Thank God for small favors," Bones answered and finally opened his eyes.

He laughed again. Felt almost giddy. Like the weight of … another universe had vanished. A weight he'd carried at least in part since he'd met Ambassador Spock. "He never meant for any of this to happen."

"No, I don't suppose he did."

"And even if he _did,_ it's not fair to blame Spock for something another version of him … um, did."

"Uh huh. Sort of stupid comparing one version to another, isn't it?"

Jim had the grace to blush. "I'll try to stop if you do."

Bones sighed. "I'll drink to that."

Jim wanted to pout and demand a more physical 'seal the deal,' but decided nah, their minds had done all the merging he had the energy for today. Even if it was all fading like some sort of dream. "Only if you go get the bottle."

Bones lifted his head and glanced at the alcove hiding Jim's cabinet. All the way on the other side of his quarters. "Fuck it. Let's sleep on it instead."

He shifted around, snuggling even closer to signal his approval, but then one image stirred on its way to peaceful oblivion, and he latched on to it. He decided that one had to stay. "Bones?"

"Hmm?"

"I want it, too, you know."

"Want what?"

"Watching the great-grandkids tear up some front lawn in Georgia. Four tours, tops, and we can retire and raise peaches or something." And he meant it. He loved space, loved his ship, but he wanted a life with a man who loved green grass and blue skies. No reason they couldn't have both, each in its time.

"Sounds like another plan." He heard and felt Bones swallow like he was nervous. "Thing is, I always pictured those two old geezers wearing wedding rings."

Marriage. He found the idea … surprisingly unalarming. "Guess we should get married, then."

"Next shore leave."

"Or we could ask Spock to do it tomorrow."

"If. We. Must."

Jim smiled against the broad chest beneath his head. "You promised to try, Bones. Be a nice start."

"Fine."

He smiled. He'd get Scotty to make the rings. Even had a nice bottle of scotch he'd been saving to give the engineer as a thank you. "How does it go? In sickness and in health."

"For better or worse."

"Forever and ever, may we never part."

"Yeah, Jim. Just like that."

end


End file.
